Stanley's day off
by spendstimelikewater
Summary: (lame title is lame) Stanley is following The Narrator's story fully, clearly something is wrong. The Narrator decides to let Stanley do as he pleases. Stanley takes him up on the offer and the office is his to rule. Chapter 3 has had the ending changed.
1. Mischeivious beginnings

Everything was going absolutely right, to a T.

Clearly, something was wrong.

The Narrator continued to tell his story _correctly _for the nth time in a row. He wasn't sure why Stanley had suddenly decided to start playing along the right way.

The first time he'd thought that Stanley finally understood the importance of following the narration and not going outside the story. As time passed, The Narrator got more suspicious. There _must _be something else.

Yes,there was no other explanation for why Stanley had decided to ignore all the other tantalizing routes, a chance to irritate the Narrator.

There _was_ the off chance that Stanley had truly given up but The Narrator was skeptical. Poking into Stanley's head gave him nothing.

The Narrator rattled off his lines, boredom seeping through the cracks of his pleased and calm facade.

As he waited for the game to reload so they could start again, The Narrator decided he would do things differently.

...

Stanley came back to his office as always. He got up, knowing that there would be no narration just yet until he left his desk. As he stepped out and walked through the first two office sections however, something was clearly amiss.

There were no lines.

No lines meant no Narrator.

Stanley hesitated, unsure of what to do. He peered up at the ceiling hoping for some sort of response. As he approached the two open doors he waited.

Again, no response.

Perhaps The Narrator was so awed by his obedience the past few playthroughs, that he expected Stanley to do it by himself.

Stanley went through the door on his left.

...

He did it.

He went through the whole game, still no Narrator.

As the game reset in silence he decided to test things out. Stepping out of his office he was greeted with silence once more. He played with other people's computers, jumped on their desks even.

It wasn't until he jiggled the handle-or clicked as the Narrator liked to call it- on door 430 that something dawned on Stanley.

Instead of staying inert, it opened.

Stanley had the office to himself with seemingly no Narrator.

...

The Narrator watched as Stanley went through the same route without him, resisting the urge to narrate once more, even as the words tugged at his mouth. His resolve to not Narrate, just this one time was stronger than his duty _to _narrate.

It was a little disheartening to see that he wasn't even all that needed. He could do the story just fine without him-granted the meta-being was still here and he was the one opening doors and everything else to keep the story going in his 'absence'. Just once he'd wanted to hear Stanley beg for him to come back. To want him, to need him.

He was about to open his mouth when Stanley started to explore the building.

The Narrator decided that he'd let the employee do as liked.

For now.

...

Office number 430 was exceptionally boring. It was exactly the same-or almost so as his own. But it was a new section he'd _never _been able to get to before. He shifted through papers that had nothing on them for the most part-seeing how he was never meant to be here it wasn't anything surprising to Stanley although he figured it'd have been nice if there were words on it, even if it was gibberish.

Stanley wandered about, opening doors and poking his head through them. This grew boring after a while and so Stanley went to the lounge.

It was a nice lounge. Of course it was, The Narrator had said so and by extension it was partially true with Stanley. He could stay here as long as he wanted, read the magazines, make himself some coffee if he wanted.

...

The Narrator watched in annoyance as Stanley sat down and read the papers while drinking a cup of coffee. It was a perfectly normal thing for a person to do but it accomplished nothing. Honestly, there couldn't be that much to read down there. How long could one person make a cup of coffee last?

...

A long time apparently.

...

Stanley finished the last magazine and sat there. Now what?  
He could jump off of the platform and restart, possibly with The Narrator there. But it'd be a waste of an opportunity. The thought of having nothing to do as well as having no interest int doing much with his own free will scared Stanley. He liked to think of himself as more than just a puppet-when he wasn't absentmindedly walking through the hallways half listening to the Narrator talk on and on.

The employee got up and walked in front of the vending machine. He stared at it for a few minutes before giving it a firm a kick.

Nothing.

Oh well, he tried.

As in response, perhaps out of pity?- a can fell down.

Stanley stopped and stared, eyes wandering to the ceiling. After a moment, the man stooped down to pick it up. The can had a light blue wavy design on it.

It was a nice gift, from The Narrator no doubt. The man-er...manly voice- wouldn't have left him all alone.

Stanley left the lounge.


	2. The end to that

Stanley sipped on his can of soda and walked towards the meeting room for no particular reason other than 'he felt like it', although this time it was because he wasn't doing it just to defy the Narrator but because he could.

He hadn't meant for his destination to _be_ the meeting room, however.

Stanley found himself staring at the red writing on the whiteboards. He'd never really bothered to read them. The first time around, he'd been more concerned on finding a way out, on 'playing the game'. All times after that, he'd spent more time finding other endings, or trying to piss off the Narrator. The latter being his personal hobby and a way for him to keep sane in the monotony of things.  
Even there _were _other endings, it got boring after a while when it was a constant stream that he'd no way out of.

Stanley drew absentmindedly on the walls with a marker he'd found.

He'd always had a thought or two about the ever present Narrator, even now it seems.

The man wondered what he'd look like if he did have a body.

He grinned as the silly image of a pompous old man with a good deal of chub on him came to mind. He couldn't deny that there was a gentlemanly aura surrounding the drawing. A well meaning one, maybe, but with a touch of just a little too overbearing.

Much to his dismay, he found he couldn't erase any of the writing and a part of him felt a little guilty that he had tried.

The picture was drawn largely on the nicest piece of whiteboard he could find.

He wanted the voice to see it.

Stanley had never been the artistic type, and perhaps that was one of the reasons why The Narrator sought to 'educate' him about how video games were art although this too brought about a line of thought he'd rather not think about. About how his own actions were not his own either.

After all was said and done, Stanley found himself musing over his missing co workers. He knew by now that

he'd never find them, that he was alone save for the Mannequin wife and the occasional person he saw

walking past one of the windows, but he wondered.

Did they ever exist?

Or had he just been born spontaneously one day for the sole purpose of entertaining some omnipotent other being?

He felt a pang of sadness and loneliness, mixed with anger.

Something he hadn't felt quite so strongly in such a long time.

Oh how he longed for someone to interact with , someone who didn't act on a set of predetermined set of choices or had any connection to this game.

Stanley decided quickly to leave.

...

The Narrator listened to every word that went through Stanley's head. He himself did not understand the concept of 'loneliness' as Narrators, by nature, are loners themselves.

They didn't tend to place 'nice' with each other as they all had different ideas of how the story would go. Most Narrators, save for the few odd ones, were happy solely with their main characters.

Stanley had him around didn't he?

Didn't Stanley understand that with him around, he'd never be truly alone?

The Narrator watched annoyed as Stanley decided to draw the oh so loving picture of 'him'.

For all he did for Stanley this was how he repaid him? He'd have to teach that boy a lesson later when this was all over.

Oh yes.

There would be an end to-

...

The Narrator retracted that thought. Yes, the story was only ever meant to have one Protagonist, but if it made Stanley happy and more cooperative then perhaps he could find the creativity in him to churn out one more character.

A feeling of conflict, of losing Stanley to someone else and becoming a mere third wheel to the relationship made him dismiss the thought.

On the other hand, he wanted Stanley's affections, not romantically but more in a friendship kind of way.

He mulled it over.

He would put it on the back burner.

For now.

...

As Stanley left the forever empty meeting room, his mind wandered back to the mind control device and the

sickeningly cruel taunt of freedom, of never having to be confined to these walls and hallways.

A place free of endings! Oh how he wanted it badly.

An idea grew in Stanley's head.

On that offered a possibility of true freedom. He wished he'd realized it sooner!

He was heading to the Mind Control Facility.

...

_Wait_, he thought as watched the string of thought roll of the employees head.

If the Narrator had eyebrows they'd have gone through the roof once he realized what Stanley was planning on doing. Not that he had a roof either.

He sat there shocked at the revelation that Stanley had come to and he, the creator of this place did not.

The Narrator wasn't sure if-if he was happy that Stanley would find freedom or sad that it would mean being left behind. Or Pride that now welled up besides it's siblings at the thought that Stanley truly understood at least part of the bigger picture, of what he'd been aiming to teach Stanley all along.

He watched with mixed anticipation, intrigue far outweighing his want to speak again.

...

A frenzied wave of excitement rolled through him as he walked towards the infernal machine. Hopefully for the last time.

There was a bounce in his step, a feeling of renewed vigor flowing through his veins.

He followed the 'story' and soon he found himself standing in front of the elevator where he would soon make the fated choice.

Not that it was much of a choice.

While he waited he tossed the can over the side, watching it fall into nothingness, as he assumed it was down there.

Something caught his eye. A button with a camera on it.

He really shouldn't.

But...

If this worked like he hoped it did then...

he supposed that pressing one button wouldn't hurt.

Stanley found himself grinning like an idiot as he relieshed in the action of button pressing. The simple yet satisfying action brought up memories of fonder times.

Forgetting the elevator that sat behind him, waiting for him, the employee went on the search for more of these buttons.

And then something happened.

A most wonderful beat filled the air and a myriad of colorful lights came on.

It almost seemed that they were celebrating his soon to be had freedom.

...

Normally, under any other circumstances he would have complained about Stanley littering in _his _story.

A small chuckle came to him as he watched Stanley run around pressing buttons. It was an endearing quirk, something that had drawn him to Stanley in the first place.

Maybe it was appropriate that this be his last action in this place, a feeling of pride washing through him as Stanley discovered one of the little 'presents' he'd left in there. Something he'd added to make things more...amiable for Stanley after their first play through, their first office.

...

The generally happy mood was quickly washed away as Stanley started to dance a most peculiar dance.

One that he could not tear his eyes from no matter how much he wished it.

He, the all powerful metabeing could not take his eyes off the gelatinous, quaking buns that made up Stanley's posterior.

It jiggled and swayed in a way that disgusted the Narrator. Despite this disapproval he was also strangely aroused by this 'vulgar' dance.

There was something so captivating that he swore he could have watched forever until the employee got tired or the music stopped. Even then he was sure he would want to see Stanley dance that dance of shaking booties forever.

No.

NO

He could not allow himself to be reduced to such pathetic standing! He was an agent and composer of fine art and teacher of great hidden lessons!

He had to put an end to this.

...

"Stanley was overcome with shame and stopped dancing." The Narrator's voice rang out, startling Stanley. The music turned off and Stanley for the first time in this adventure was afraid.


	3. End

Stanley found himself sitting in his office, same as always. However, this time, instead of feeling the usual boredom and worn out 'mystery' that was meant to

permeate the office, Stanley sat in trepidation.

The door was closed, a sign surely. The door was never closed unless Stanley closed it.

He swiveled slowly in his chair, listening to the ticking of the clocks. The passing of time didn't matter here, it was infinite and meaningless. It was a void, a blank

concept that held no concrete profoundness when every minute was the same.

Well except with the baby game. It was the only time he'd ever been given some sort of indication of time existing, passing at all.

Stanley watched as his feet dangled ever so slightly over the tops of his chair's wheels.

He anxiously peered up at the ceiling, the suspense was killing him.

A thought went through his head,_ 'What if he's really planning on killing me by letting me sit here?'_

_'What if The Narrator is going to lock me in this office until I die a slow death?'_

The possibility, although not very Narrator like, scared him.

"Now, Stanley. It's obvious that you understand the lesson I've been trying oh so hard to impart on you. The answer was right there and you threw it away." The

Narrator began, sadness and annoyance filtered through the authoritative voice he was busy lecturing Stanley with, like he always does when Stanley 'colors too outside the lines' as he put in once.

"I don't understand Stanley, really, I don't. You had every chance to embrace freedom, everything! Why?" . Really, The Narrator couldn't figure him out.

Stanley was supposed to be _his_ character, someone he knew inside and out better than they knew themselves.

So why couldn't he understand Stanley?

"After all this time, he was still an engima, hiding secrets that were just out of reach. A dry and dull enigma for the most part, but an enigma all the same.

"Even when The Narrator could read his mind, know his most intimate thoughts. All this power and there were still things he couldn't begin to understand.

"Help me Stanley. Help me understand. What is it that I have to do to make you succeed? What do you want, Stanley?

"Tell me." He finished with a mix of anger, confusion and pleading.

Stanley sat there,in stunned silence. He contemplated what this meant. Was the Narrator giving him more free will? Was he being mocked? Surely he was being

punished somehow.

At the same time, this presented an opportunity, possibly his last.

It had to count. If all else failed, if there was nothing to go back on and this 'parable' became stuck and stale he had to find a way to change it, to make it better.

He found his voice at last, after thinking it through.

"I want-I want-"

Stanley was overwhelmed with so many emotions, so many possibilities that he felt both electrified and numb, if that was even possible.

His voice almost trembled, much less confident and sure of himself than he'd hoped, than he _needed._

"What I want, is something different." Stanley said.

It was...vague at best, far from what he'd hoped but he needed to stall for time and stall he did.

I don't want _this."_ Another vague statement but he was starting to form something solid in the back of his mind.

It wasn't that he'd never thought about it, but rather he never thought about emif /emsuch a thing was to happen, if he really was given the chance to actually

express these thoughts of his.

""But Stanley, you know what the purpose of the game, the story is. I'm only doing this for your benefit. All this is for you." The Narrator pushed back, pointing out

what Stanley had heard all too many times before.

"Yes, I-I know that. But that's not what I want. I don't want these empty halls, this silence. I don't want to be stuck here in this empty labyrinth with no true exit."

Stanley was starting to find his words, starting to make them work and put themselves into a working fashion.

"You could be out there, walking free already, you know." The Narrator reminded him.

Stanley swallowed, nodding.

"I-I could have, yes."

""But you didn't."

"Because...Because..." Surely, there was another reason. A more reasonable, deeper reason than 'I wanted to push buttons and dance'. Even if that was the truth, it was pathetic, wasn't it?

"I wanted..."

No, there had to be a deeper reason. Surely, he could lie and make up a good reason. Stanley considered himself not to be concerned with the dealings of The

Narrator's lessons. Although after all this time, Stanley wondered if there was a deeper meaning, besides the concept of choice that the Narrator had harped on about

year after year.

" Well, go on." The Narrator pressed, notably peeved at this situation.

The Narrator was giving Stanley a chance to say what he really wanted to say and here Stanley was giving him nothing.

_'Surely_,'Stanley thought,'_The Narrator must be thinking of me as stupid_.'

This was no new revelation to Stanley. The voice had long called Stanley stupid and simply many times before.

Stanley liked to think of himself as being more than stupid. Clueless at times yes, he admitted, he was not the smartest man alive. A mere office worker, again yes,

but he wanted to think that he had a meaning.

"A friend."

The Narrator was puzzled by this simple request. On one hand, he understood why Stanley might want a friend but this was only on a conceptual level.

"A friend?" He echoed back.

Silence.

"I suppose I could find in my creative prowess to conjure up a companion for you. Find a way to fit him into the story." He mused.  
Stanley frowned.  
"Couldn't it be a girl?" Stanley asked. A bachelors live was very lonely, especially in a place like this.

"You've already got a wife, Stanley. Don't you remember her?"

Stanley frowned, remembering the disheartening shock he'd received. The feeling of hopelessness and sadness that numbed him as that particular story played out. Stanley felt it was stronger then than with any other story, any other time. Even the mind numbing sameness and stillness of the office was no match to what he'd felt with the mannequin wife.  
"A _real_ person." Stanley pressed. "Someone I can have a conversation with, someone who can _understand_ me."

"You're having a conversation with me right now, I don't-"

"But you don't understand me." Stanley snapped, finally letting the anger and stress of it all show through his normally quiet demeanor.

There was no way to getting around this crazy request of Stanley's was there?

"Alright, Stanley." The Narrator began, "I'll honor your request for a 'friend' if you promise me one thing."

Stanley listened tentatively.

"If you promise to play the game, follow the story and really, honestly, learn then...I'll give you 'a friend'."  
Stanley was stunned. Stunned that The Narrator had given some indication that he'd honor such a request. He was dismayed at the idea that to get what he wanted, or at least part of what he wanted, he'd have to bind himself to the game once more.

He was sick of this office, this story, this game.

But on the other hand, if he said no, if he refused, then he'd be back where he was now.

Alone and stuck in these unchanging walls with The Narrator and the same old story lines for who knows how long.

Yes, Stanley had a plan of sorts, fuzzy as it may have been.

"I'll do it." He said, agreeing.

He was getting what he wanted, so why did he feel he was resigning himself to an extra eternity in hell?

The Narrator was silent again, leaving Stanley to stew in his anxiousness.

"You know Stanley, I didn't expect you to actually say yes to that. But since you're so willing to donate yourself to the cause, I'll tell you what.  
I'll even make a new few new parables for you."  
Stanley felt defeated.

"That sounds...wonderful."

A/N: The ending was a bit jarring, I admit. The story was not quite as humorous as I imagined it'd be. However this is leading to something. It's going to have a sequel, a series of one shots if you will. In a way it's like 'who are you 432' in terms of being interconnected one shots that leads to something.  
No idea what the title will be like. There /were/ two alternate endings where Stanley does escape that were for this story. However I am saving one of them, and I think I know which one of those two I am picking already.  
Plans for the other fics: br /432- He will show up in at least one other fic besides Who are you, 432 (With him being my RP muse can you really blame me?)  
There might be a sequel to Fresh Snow (no title)

There is going to be a Portal/TSP crossover fic  
A stanley/Mariella fic

A few others as well  
I don't know aside from that as far as TSP fics goes.  
I do have plans for fics outside TSP though.  
Until then, see yah. When I update depends on how college goes over here  
-shrugs-


End file.
